done, the Queen her maids doth call, And bids them to be ready all: She would go see her summer hall, She could no longer tarry.

Her chariot ready straight is made, Each thing therein is fitting laid, That she by nothing might be stayed, For nought must be her letting; Four nimble gnats the horses were, Their harnesses of gossamere, Fly Cranion the charioteer Upon the coach-box getting.

Her chariot of a snail’s fine shell, Which for the colours did excel, The fair Queen Mab becoming well, So lively was the limning; The seat the soft wool of the bee, The cover, gallantly to see, The wing of a pied butterfly; I trow ’twas simple trimming.

The wheels composed of cricket’s bones, And daintily made for the nonce, For fear of rattling on the stones With thistle-down they shod it; For all her maidens much did fear If Oberon had chanced to hear That Mab his Queen should have been there, He would not have abode it.

She mounts her chariot with a trice, Nor would she stay, for no advice, Until her maids that were so nice To wait on her were fitted; But ran herself away alone, Which when they heard, there was not one But hasted after to be gone, As he had been diswitted.

Hop and Mop and Drop so clear, Pip and Trip and Skip that were To Mab, their sovereign, ever dear, Her special maids of honour; Fib and Tib and Pink and Pin, Tick and Quick and Jill and Jin, Tit and Nit and Wap and Win, The train that wait upon her.

Upon a grasshopper they got And, what with amble, what with trot, For hedge and ditch they sparéd not, But after her they hie them; A cobweb over them they throw, To shield the wind if it should blow, Themselves they wisely could bestow Lest any should espy them.

But let us leave Queen Mab awhile, Through many a gate, o’er many a stile, That now had gotten by this wile, Her dear Pigwiggin kissing; And tell how Oberon doth fare, Who grew as mad as any hare When he had sought each place with care, And found his Queen was missing.

By grisly Pluto he doth swear, He rent his clothes and tore his hair, And as he runneth here and there An acorn cup he greeteth, Which soon he taketh by the stalk, About his head he lets it walk, Nor doth he any creature balk, But lays on all he meeteth.

The Tuscan Poet doth advance, The frantic Paladin of France, And those more ancient do enhance Alcides in his fury, And others Aiax Telamon, But to this time 

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